The Legend of Nirn: A Failed Hero
This short story segment is set before the occurrences of The Legend of Nirn RP, it will follow the origin and the rise of the young and clumsy Wood Elf known as Cleingle. He met his fate within the tragic events that unfolded in The Legend of Nirn series, this short story will commemorate one of my favourite characters who I have worked on. Enjoy! A Failed Hero Born unto a world of fear and civil unrest, Cleingle was bound into becoming a cowardly and foolish boy who suited the occurrences of the times that were set, yet potential was apparent within the Bosmer from an early age, as he was seen by one powerful being to become a protector of Nirn. The Archangel, known formally as Azarain Velothi, saw Cleingle too become one of the hero’s that Nirn needed to turn the tides of an already perishing planet, whereby dragons had threatened to desolate the world, Daedric princes had planned to consume it for their own and vampires had narrowly failed to extinguish the sun. Each of these threats had been dealt with by past heroes, heroes who were now gone or too feeble in their age to act as a master of might and goodness. The Archangel knew that the future held villains that needed vanquishing and new heroes would have to rise to become legends and save Nirn. However due to the Wood Elf’s decision making and fearful state, to be a saviour or a hero was not apparent, Cleingle would not forbid the title of a legendary hero, but a clumsy fool with a failed potential for greatness… a failed hero. The night was old and the wind was a gentle touch upon the freckled skin of the young elf, as he carried a sack of old leaves towards a small shed enshrouded by trees and plants near his home. Work was what Cleingle knew for much of his early life, he was forced into it by his carer, Velenark, a old and grumpy Wood Elf, too stubborn and self-centred to acknowledge the struggles that Cleingle endured after the death of his father. Cleingle’s well-being meant nothing to Velenark and he did not choose to show the young elf grief nor sorrow, after he offered to take him in for work that he thought was too burdening to complete himself. “The leaves go in the shed and they rot… simple” Cleingle proudly whispered to himself as he emptied his final sack of leaves for the day into a large basket tucked behind the opening of the shed door. He then picked a key from his pocket to lock the door, before dropping the empty leaf sack outside in an area of overgrown grass, however as the elf put the key into the lock to turn it, he heard a loud snap and pulled the key away quickly. Rather panicked by what had just occurred, Cleingle realised the key had broken in the lock, this was due to how rusted the mechanism had become and how the boy had turned the key. Cleingle cursed and panicked as he then heard Velenark’s croaky voice suddenly sound nearby. “CLEINGLE” A voice screamed, a fret approached as Cleingle hid the broken key behind his back, a sheepish look washed over his face. Velenark approached speaking in mostly insults and threats as a way of communication, his eyes were half open and his lip taunt. “I told you to alert me when you had finished with those leaves boy, do you want me to cut your leg!” The Elf bellowed. “Oh, I’m sorry… mis.. sir, I forgot to call you.” Cleingle then prepared for a hit to the face, which still to his surprise swiftly came, sending the young elf to the ground. “You fool!” Velenark shouted as he walked around Cleingle and towards the shed door, which wouldn’t open. When Cleingle had turned the key to lock the door, it had appeared to have locked as the key snapped, Velenark was quite puzzled at first, but his confused state gradually boiled into a state of rage “Hmm, the door won’t open…” He gave it a further inspection… “…the lock it’s still caught, there’s something in it, what have you done!” The Elf then slammed his fist against the door and pushed past the boy who was trying to get up. Velenark stormed back towards his small wooden house, on what was the path side that headed into the settlement of Haven. Velenark had lived on the outskirts of Haven for twenty odd years now, he’d been in Valenwood for all his life and for most of that time he had lived in this same house by himself. Cleingle at the age of 14 was fostered unto the old elf when his father was murdered by a Breton. Velenark never took a liking to Cleingle, he thought him to be nothing more than a weak and annoying fool and this did not do the young Bosmer’s confidence any good, but Velenark did at least give the annoying fool a roof to sleep under and plenty of tasks to complete. Cleingle had pulled himself to his feet as Velenark returned with another key to attempt to unjam the lock. He quickly put the key into the lock and was suddenly refused for it would not budge, he then threw the key onto the ground and started to repeatedly stamp on it with tremendous wrath. The elf then turned to look at the boy with fury lit within his eyes, but the young Dunmer had gone. Cleingle didn’t want another beating so he had swiftly scampered the scene and headed into the woods that loomed behind Velenark’s crumbling shack. However what Cleingle didn’t figure was that he had fled from one danger and gone into that of a frozen and enduring dangerous night. Frightened and tired the elf scampered through the woods fearing that Velenark would be right on his tracks, hunting him, wanting reprimand for the foolish boy’s acts, not only for his prior actions of breaking a shed door, but to which of the boy’s general clumsy state and seldom use of actions in aid for the old man. Weaving through trees, clumsily tripping over roots and rotted matters of that of dead creatures and things the elf didn’t want to consider in his panicked haste, Cleingle tried to remember the features of the land, the lay of it. He needed somewhere where he could hide, at least for the night, where the old man would not find him. But in his attempts to think of a place to hide the boy lost concentration on the placement of his feet and fell twisting his foot in a groove between two knotted roots, the roots were hidden by darkness and covered by leaves. And the elf whimpered as he swiftly pulled himself back up, his ankle twisted and bleeding from a cut caused by the fall onto the rugged ground. If Velenark found the boy, the punishments that he’d bestow would be cruel and painful. Cleingle knew he had to find a place to hide, so forth conjuring all the strength he had he ignored his fears and pains and kept on running, this time had no place for quarrels of the mind only for the instinct of safety, he had to muster courage and might to fight his fear. The Bosmer remembered in his fearful state that there was an old cave hidden within the woods, north from Haven. Folk would never enter or attempt to even make the journey to the cave, for it was believed to be cursed by some evil being of the woodland. However, the elf didn’t have a choice the cave was his only option, so he plundered onwards in search of the place. Stumbling onwards, lost and afraid, the young Bosmer felt fatigue and unrest settling in as he wrapped his arms around his body in an attempt to muster at least some warmth, for the night was cold and late. Cleingle carried on in search of the supposed cave and to his discomfort the Mer could not find it, he couldn’t find anything, he’d been fleeing for at least an hour now and all he had achieved was an injury on his leg and all he had seen was an endless expanse of large looming trees and dangling vines. Cleingle had never experienced a night as freezing as this before, the weather around Haven would normally be quite mild, but this cold weather spell had frozen most animals and plants who had mostly chosen to stay in hiding in the comfort of their shelters. The Mer was getting sick and tired of running, all seemed that he would not find his way and his chaser would soon catch. However, the Mer then heard a distant echoed howl as he stumbled over some dead branches to which he stopped and stared at his surroundings. Alert and ready to run Cleingle kept his eyes peeled for anything that could be lurking in the shadows of the trees and plants. The Bosmer carefully stepped forwards towards a tighter patch of trees ahead, he could only just make them out in this dark and rather unlit night, but to the boy’s sudden surprise he was stopped by some barrier that he couldn’t see, it was as if he had just stumbled into an invisible wall of sorts. In confusion, Cleingle gently reached out his hand in front of him, to feel this unknown barrier, it felt cold and damp, like a dank and ridged stone wall. The Bosmer then turned and to his amazement a cold and damp alcove of a cave appeared around him, the Mer had mistakenly wondered into a cave, which appeared to be hidden by some spell on the outside to hide its location. Cleingle then knew this was the cursed cave, it had to be, and by chance the boy had fortunately stumbled into the supposedly cursed cave. But he had no time to question the caves sudden appearance, for he knew Velenark would still be searching, so forth he gradually made his way down into the depths of what was an old and strange location. Cleingle slowly crept and crawled further into the misted and looming cave of what he hoped wouldn’t lead to his despair. Gradually moving further into the cave the Bosmer noticed the enshrouding darkness, as the last remnants of light faded, thus making it more difficult for the Mer to traverse the cold depths. He couldn’t see what lay ahead and this worried the elf, for his mind was starting to echo different possible dangers that may be lurking within the darkness. However, as Cleingle’s fears were starting to grow a glimmer of hope arose from a speck of light that shone ahead within the cave. Carefully the mer edged his way towards the light and with each step his vision improved as more light lit the cave, revealing its curved and spiked walls. Cleingle stepped into what seemed to be a small room, but there were no furnishings, only a metal bucket in the middle of the room with some water within it. Jumping out of his skin, the Mer almost fell over as a voice echoed from behind and outstepped a man in a black robe, he grabbed the elf by the front of his shirt and pushed him against the cave wall. “Hello and welcome to my home of sorts, you seem to be someone who may indeed hold some knowledge, hmm, you made it here after all didn’t you, haha, you FELLON!” The man shouted at Cleingle, he appeared to be a Breton as of what Cleingle could make out from his face hidden by his hood. “I’m sorry sir!” Cleingle replied nervously. “Nooo don’t apologise, don’t, I hate apologies! I can see your fears, you have them… we all have them, so self-conscious and afraid of being seen as something you think that isn’t normal, something your fellow beings may make fun of you for… hmm, so you avoid your fears, but they restrict you, you shy away from becoming yourself, you block out those you love as you give into fear! Yes…” The man then paused and looked at the ground, his face stricken by a state of confusion and wonder, “I once had a wife…” He then paused again, before looking up at Cleingle. “Wait what is your name, y’know that word people say to you, the title of the accomplishment of the creation of yourself?” He asked. “Cleingle…” The Bosmer quietly replied. “Ah good, I’m James, now… I once had a wife… yes and she left me for reasons I could not understand, yes maybe she didn’t like me, perhaps she didn’t like my character, thought I was dull, hmm… BUT I couldn’t understand why she went, for what I could see we were both content and happy, in LOVE, hahaha, and she still left me, had she just had enough, wanted another victim to hold and kiss and then dispose of into the dirt, breaking their heart and ruining them! I couldn’t let that happen, no, so Cleingle do you know what I did, I got her to stay… I tied her down against a wooden medium sized table, I gagged her so I didn’t have to listen to her excuses or whines and I slashed her into little bits with a knife, I then ate her so… and now she will never leave me, we will be together forever, haha, she’ll never leave me… that stupid whore will never leave ME!” The man then stepped back with a wild grin smeared across his face, his expression was menacing, and Cleingle immediately regretted running out into these woods and creeping down into these damp caves. He struggled and looked around, searching for an escape from this madness, but James grabbed the Bosmer’s chin, realising his panic, noticing the nerves that were spreading from the Mer. “Do you know the worst thing about people Cleingle, the lies, and the self-pity, how weak we really are! We know when we do something bad that others would be displeased to see what we have done! But we don’t care, because our pleasure seeking selves take over, the inner evil within spreads, haha, let me show you something Cleingle… follow me, and please don’t try running away, because you won’t get far, now come.” James then released the Mer and headed down a darkened passageway leading of from the timidly lit room, having no other choice Cleingle anxiously followed the robed man. The Mer trailed the crazed man hesitantly, watching him stumble down the passageway, his hands stretched out reaching and grabbing the damp air in a crazed manor. The Man’s hands were monstrous, dwarfing that of Cleingle’s, the Mer could imagine himself attempting an foolish escape, and failing, being caught in the process. He could imagine the man crushing his throat as his massive hands gripped and tightened. Cleingle’s thoughts were then halted, as James suddenly stopped along the timidly lit passageway. He turned to look at the Bosmer, his face stern and tone serious. “Someone else lurks here, within this system… Cleingle, I can sense them, who else dwindles in these caves? Is it a pathetic friend of yours, do not lie to me Cleingle.” James stepped closer towards the anxious Mer, looking down at him, like he was a wronged dog. Cleingle gulped as he forced out a nervous reply, “I… I came alone, trying to escape, no one will be here who I know…” The Mer’s expression was that of a worried child as he knew Velenark could still be in a possible pursuit. Cleingle didn’t want his old carer to find this place, as he was certain that James would kill him the moment he came into the cave, his end would be gruesome and even though Cleingle hated the old man he didn’t wish for him to have a death given to him by a crazed psychopath. James looked down at the Mer, he let out a large sigh before then turning around and carrying on down the passageway, to which he immediately stepped into a large open area built up of vegetation and rocky crops. Cleingle was rather amazed when he walked into the area, the atmosphere had completely changed as he looked around at the green surroundings in awe. The Mer temporarily closed his eyes before reopening them again, he could not believe what he was seeing. Multiple butterflies and torchbugs flicked in-between trees and plants, as random hoots and screeches from owls and other creatures sounded. James stepped forwards looking over a small overhang the two stood upon just near the passageway they had come out of, he watched as nature flourished, his state was a lot calmer now and his expression almost friendly, yet still hinted with insanity. “I have loved nature and life since I was a small child, it has always fascinated me. How all other animals within this kingdom simply live their lives, with their only worries being that of general survival and basic needs. We humanoids are just too serious, our lust for power and self-greed within our empires and governments is ruining our basic sense and structure of how we live… we need to slow down and focus on the core of what survival should really be, the need to go about life with the only priority being basic survival…” James then turned around looking at Cleingle as he pondered, his expression then changed, “anyway, this way Cleingle.” James orded as he stepped down from the overhang and followed an overgrown path that lead further into the secret underground wilderness. As they walked Cleingle was almost breathless as he bared witness to the flawless and beautiful eco-system the pair passed through, for a moment the Mer even forgot that he was in companionship with an insane Man, escaping another angered Bosmer, but Cleingle’s fears suddenly dawned once again as James spoke once more, his voice still serious but calm. “Who are you escaping from Cleingle?” The man questioned as he brushed his hands past some leaves and looked upon a fragile butterfly, fluttering around in front of him. Cleingle looked towards the ground with worry and fear washing over his face, he didn’t know whether he should lie and not tell James of Velenark, who by now may have given-up his chase of the boy, or just tell the crazed man the truth. He lied. “I… was running away from some… cannibals…”. Cleingle then looked at the ground squinting his eyes, as his nerves forced their way back in. Not knowing what reply to expect Cleingle waited, maybe James would be angered. But as the Bosmer looked back up he noticed a crushed butterfly upon the ground, mixed in with the wild flowing grass of the cavern floor. The poor insect had been swiped at and battered to the ground, Cleingle then realised as his field of vision expanded and his eyes opened wider, that James had gone. He stepped back twisting and turning his head, looking at the surrounding wilderness for the man, but he was not to be seen. Had he killed the butterfly after stating his love for such creatures? Cleingle then rang out a shout, “Hello… James!” The Bosmer grew more anxious by the second, as no reply sounded back. Forth, the Mer started running, each jolted footstep being absorbed by the soft ground and each breath creating a light mist as it blew out from the Bosmers agape mouth. Cleingle didn’t know where to go so he just followed the overgrown path ahead, which was lit by sporadic torch’s and surrounded by mid-sized pines and bushes. As the Mer ran further and further into the ecosystem he felt his heartrate increasing with every step and he would jump for every howl or low pitched noise he would hear. Terrified, the Mers breathing became random and fast, as he then started to hear thudding footsteps that sounded like the beats of drums coming from behind him, the boy started to scream as the footsteps became louder and his mind was set in a confused state for he was completely lost. Cleingle’s pace then came to an abrupt halt as a branch dropped from one overhanging tree above, landing on top of the Dunmer making contact with his head and bringing him to the ground with a thump. As Cleingles vision blackened, he could just make out a silhouette standing over his body, this was followed by a deep, stern voice,“ Cannibals… ha… HAHAHA…” Then there was nothing. Cleingle awoke upon a cold stone bed his wrists and ankles were bound down by some magical ward, lifting them up felt like an impossibility, the magic was strong and painful upon the Bosmers skin creating a burning sensation, he knew he couldn’t escape. And as the Mer started to come back around from his uncomfortable sleep, he began to wonder where it was that he lay, trapped. The environment had changed completely, for he now found himself trapped within a dark open stone walled hall. A small and weak red light shone upon the ceiling, dangling from a small rope. It hardly lit the room, yet it did create a slight red glow down upon the centre of the room where Cleingle lay. The Bosmer could hear the cracks and sizzles from an open fire that must have been situated behind him out of his field of view, he could make out the odd orange flicker and flash from dancing flames radiating light into the open space. Cleingle then heard footsteps echo from in front of him which must have been coming from the entrance of the hall, he tilted his head up and looked down his body towards the sound of the footsteps, appearing from the darkness was a tall robed figure striding towards the Mer with intent to inflict harm. The figure stopped, the odd flick of orange glow from the fire revealed his figure and shape. A loud voice then echoed throughout the cold hall, “Have you awoke from your slumber Cleingle, my child…” As James gradually moved closer the Mer recognised his crazed sneer and reddened robes. The boy screamed, traumatised by the approaching fret, “Get away from me! What do you want!” Cleingle cried. The man replied in a calm, yet wild manor, “I want your knowledge Cleingle… your power, since you stepped foot in this cave I could sense the knowledge within you and your force Cleingle, you may not know it but within that scrawny body of yours I can sense a mighty presence entombed in your foolish and young mind, you may be powerful boy, but you don’t possess the potential nor the intent to use it, therefore I will take it and use it for my own good…” As the man approached one hand lit with red flames the other armed with a sharp pointed knife, Cleingle pleaded for mercy. “Please stop! Stop!” The boy screamed. And in a sudden instant the boy’s pleas were answered as a raging fireball shot over the elf’s head and blasted against James knocking him back into the entrance of the hall from which he came. Angered and shocked James hastily forced himself back up onto his feet with a grunt, followed by a violent beast like howl. He looked up and standing behind Cleingle with another fireball ready to blast was an orange glowing figure, dressed in well-fit black robes, white ebony boots and gauntlets, and a darkened draping hood that hid his complexion. James’s expression exploded as a red mist lifted from his robes, his eyes were shot in a blood red colour as he started to recognise who the intruding figure was. “Uargh… Azarain! I knew there was something more lurking within these caves!” James’s voice had deepened even more into an aggressive growl. The Archangel stood up high, unintimidated by James’s antics, he looked through the darkness of his hood staring at the villain. “I have come here to end your misery James, and the suffering you have caused.” James unleashed a roar that echoed throughout the hall, Cleingle moved his head back in fear as it violently echoed around the stone room. The Archangel stood his ground unflared and fired the second ball of fire, this time though James was ready and in a sudden instant the Breton dematerialised into a cloud of red vapour. The Fireball shot through the cloud and hit the wall behind, creating a singed and blackened crater. In his vapour form James glided across the room, before instantly materialising back into his human form, he rapidly unleashed a barrage of successive red fireballs towards Azarain Velothi, the Archangel, and the defenceless Bosmer still trapped upon his stone bed. Azarain summersaulted over the stone bed Cleingle lay upon before promptly casting a ward, blocking most of the shots but one which broke the ward leaving the Archangel temporarily weakened as he staggered back towards Cleingles stone bed. James made the most of this fall and blasted another red fireball that hit Azarain in the chest sending him back over the stone bed and against the hardened wall. Immediately James then proceeded to fire a paralyse shot at the Archangel who lay just in view behind Cleingle, yet with all his power the Breton was still to slow for the Archangel, as he swiftly fired a lightning bolt at James disrupting his shot which blasted across the room hitting Cleingle, this left the Bosmer in a paralysed state as he lay upon the stone bed in a jolted position. Suddenly James found himself flying through the air as another fireball hit him from behind, James landed hard, but he did not wince as he pushed himself back up of the ground to see the Archangel now behind him in the entrance to the hall. James once again materialised and started traveling high and low around the room, this time at a faster pace. The Archangel fired a torrent of flames at the red vapour to no avail as James swiftly drifted down towards the Archangel materialising just before he met him and tackling him to the ground. James pulled out his knife and attempted to lodge it into Azarain’s stomach, but he quickly grabbed James’s wrist stopping the strike. The Archangel started casting flames as he held the Bretons wrist, burning his foe severely as he gripped tightly. James dropped the knife and attempted to roll back, but before he could the Archangel blasted a fireball directly in James’s chest creating a large explosion in-between the two which sent James flying back into the air and onto the hard stone ground, this time he didn’t get back up. Silence then fell in the room as the smoke from the fight gradually cleared. Slowly the Archangel forced himself up with a gasp of discomfort, his robes were tattered and burnt, covered in holes and rips, and his hood was down revealing his head, in the commotion it must have been forced back. Azarain swiftly lifted the hood back up over his head hiding his face, before heading over towards James who still lay motionless upon the ground. The Breton was not in a pretty state, the powerful blast had burnt through his robes and torn into his flesh creating a blooded hollow in his torso killing him instantly. The Archangel leant down and gently closed James’s eyelids as a sign of respect to his fallen foe. He then stood back up taking one last look at the Breton. “You would’ve made a good protector my old friend … if your soul hadn’t been so corrupt” The Archangel turned his head towards Cleingle and strode away from the body. He looked at the paralysed boy, “You my friend, you will one day be a legend of Nirn…" Azarain said proudly as he then looked over at James,"...not a failed hero”. The Archangel then reached down touching the boys head, “Our paths shall cross again one day, but until then my friend, try and find your inner courage and moral might”. Cleingle awoke lying in a warm single bed, his head resting upon a soft cushion, not a hard stone block hidden within a set of dank caves. He looked up and recognised that he was in a small room with a chair and a bookcase inside. He could not remember much from the cave, other than James and the hero who had saved him. He couldn’t recall what the figure looked like nor could he recollect his name. All the boy could remember was James’s twisted yet interesting points and thoughts about the Breton’s way of approaching life and this current society, this had sparked a small pinch of hatred within Cleingle, one that the Archangel had dampened but not put out… Cleingle jumped up out of the bed and headed towards the exit of the room, he walked into a warming chamber with an open fire set in the middle with three chairs positioned around it. A women stood behind a counter just to the left of the fire, this large room looked like the centre of an inn of sorts. Cleingle looked to his right to the door of the room that must have headed outside. He felt a brisk chill in the air as he neared the door and felt a remarkable change in temperature as he opened it and walked out into the open. The Bosmer wrapped his arms around his body as he stepped out into the chilled snow filled air of a small town. Cleingle gasped in astonishment as he looked around at the surrounding buildings covered in a white blanket of what he could only presume was snow, this was unusual for the Bosmer as he had never seen snow before, the mer had only heard about it in stories. So forth, this was a brand new experience for him. Cleingle stepped further out into the town coming down the steps from the inn, the cool air continuing to hit him like a raging bear. There was what looked to be like a round port in front of him with a small ship docked at its side. Amazed Cleingle ran out into the snow jumping up and down in excitement, he headed over towards the ship but tripped as his foot sank down into the snow where there was a sudden drop in gradient, the boy rolled down into the snow, his face buried and now frozen. Cleingle felt a sudden warm hand grabbing his shoulder and yanking him up from the ground from the cold and almost painful sensation, Cleingle turned rather dazed by the coldness he was feeling and was welcomed by the friendly face of a hooded female Dunmer. He jumped as he saw her, “Ahh!” He shivered as he spoke, “ Hi I’m Cleingle… erm, this place, it’s very cold…” The young women pulled him up to his feet. “Yes, just abit… my names Aimnle… are you alright you look quite puzzled and frozen?!” The Dunmer laughed. “I’m fine… yes, I am now… quite a long story really, err, this may be a weird question to you, but can I ask you where we are?” Cleingle spoke fast, his face was pale and a confused expression flooded across it as he shivered. “We’re in Dawnstar…” Cleingle still looked rather puzzled as he heard the name, Aimnle spoke again confused with the Bosmer “… Dawnstar, in Skyrim… how did you even get here?!” Cleingle looked down at the snow he picked up a chunk of it and crushed it in his red numb hands, “I don’t know!” The Mer laughed. “What do you mean you don’t know!” Aimnle questioned, rather bewildered with the Mer. “Do you have a family, a job… are you a lost adventurer with amnesia!?” Aimnle held Cleingles hands seeing that they were turning into ice blocks, and the Mer felt a warmth of which he had never experienced. He looked at her, still quite stunned with what was happening. “No, I don’t have a family nor job, and I’m not an adventurer…” The boy looked towards the ground and then back up at Aimnle. “Well Cleingle maybe you could do with a job of sorts, come, I will take you to Chillback farm where I work for a Nord and his family, we could defiantly do with another pair of hands”. Aimnle smiled and tightened her grip on the boy’s hands, Cleingle looked up at her not really having a choice, “Ok… yeah that would be great!” The Mer was screaming inside but he didn’t show it, as the two walked of chatting. Out of the town they gradually disappeared towards the farm located on-top of a lonely hill covered in snow, just visible from Dawnstar. And so began the Legend of Nirn, as heroes ascended and challenges beckoned, the end was far from that of Nirn's reckoning… thanks for reading. By Wind within 707 Category:The Legend of Nirn Category:Stories